Search

How many times has a well meaning friend or colleague, after hearing a sliver of a story about your toxic mom, offered advice to find “common ground?”

The common ground comment is usually followed by comments like these:

“She’s the only mother you’ll ever have.”

“You’ll miss her when she’s gone.”

“You may regret cutting her off later.”

“Other people in your family can handle her, why can’t you?”

“Maybe if you tried harder?”

One of the quickest ways I know to nip this suggestion in the bud is to offer the suggestion that your friend replace ‘toxic mom’ with ‘boyfriend who beats me.’ This usually flummoxes them a bit. But it’s a valid suggestion. Your friend can’t quite imagine a mother starving her child, or abusing or neglecting her teen. Harder still to imagine a mother who uses a child for sexual predator bait (meaning, she’s tired of being raped or abused, so she lets you have that job for awhile), or a mother who steals your after school job money you’ve hidden, or even a mother who does all that – for years – and then one day kicks you out for, Oh, I don’t know, being too pretty, or smart, or ambitious.

But a friend can imagine a boyfriend or spouse abusing you. If you told your friend that story, you’d probably be offered a spare room, a spare car and lots and lots of help.

But if you are trapped by your toxic mother and confess to a close friend the depth of the situation, they might look at you like you’ve lost your mind. And the talk goes on. Your friend suggests that, yes, you may not like your mom’s parenting style, but certainly she wants what is best for you. Surely, there must be some common ground?

It’s sort of like when you go to the dentist and the dentist blames you for plaque like you’re the bad person, the non-flosser, the one who couldn’t manage your own mouth. Sometimes because of abuse or neglect you grow up without regular dental visits. Sometimes you are trained by your toxic mom to be afraid of medical professionals because, you know, they see things. So you don’t go to the dentist as often as other do. Dirty plaque – like dirty family secrets – builds up.

Sometimes friends with kinder families can’t imagine the cat-clawing-up-the-curtains fear that a terrible mother can inspire. They think finding common ground, as an adult is as easy as flossing. You just decide to do it and it all works out.

Your friend, this lucky person, has no reference for what you experienced – (maybe read some Dave Eggers?) – and the best you can offer them is to wait until they catch up. You could loan them your copy of Toxic Mom Toolkit. Remind them that many successful people rose above their rising, just like you are trying to do.

Maybe the two of you can try to understand each other’s point of view when it comes to family history, family dynamics, generational pathology and making peace with all that. That conversation might include the shocking news that yes; an abuser is an abuser, even if that abuser is your mom. Maybe the best common ground you can shoot for is creating common ground between two friends.

That is the question Blade Runner 2049 poses to the viewer. Manufactured replica humans versus naturally born humans are presented as two very different things; the trump card being a real human is born with a soul, has a childhood and along with that growing up phase, treasured memories. Replicants are produced as slaves to society with imbedded memories that seem real, while real humans with true childhoods are represented as having more depth and choices – and a soul. Or do they?

It didn’t happen instantly, but along the line, from my seat, the Ryan Gosling replicant versus human storyline blurred into my experience with unwanted, unplanned, unloved children, versus, those lucky people whose families planned for them, wanted them and treasured them. In other words, my split worldview of unloved versus loved.

In the film society had divided itself into slave and free in order to colonize other worlds and rebuild the original ruined one. That required massive numbers of compliant, law-abiding slaves. My internal debate as a movie-goer was who to root for, the replicant who had to process human feelings just like everyone else, who was capable of loving and being loved, or the master/or superior rank of real humans, whose task was to keep order?

Sitting next to me, my husband viewed the film as simply a free man versus slave story, with slavery essentially just being a state of mind. In the film, any slave that tried to pass as human faced a death sentence – or “retirement” by a Blade Runner from the LAPD. Ryan Gosling as a Blade Runner was emotionally flat, and job focused. But during private moments, we saw his human side.

The story delivered a challenge: What if a manufactured replicant somehow gave birth to a baby? So what is that baby? A replicant or a human? A half-replicant, half-human? Or is that baby the line being erased between two classes of humans? A point of no return and societal chaos?

I think sometimes adult children of unloving or toxic parents can feel a little bit like the replicant character in Blade Runner 2049. You exist, but due to childhood trauma or neglect, you have lots of memory gaps. You treasure a few happy memories but know you should have more or you may not even trust your own memories – that you had a sweet experience worth remembering. We are human beings with souls, but there can be an emotional flatness that comes with understanding that many of us were viewed as burdens or even curses to our mothers/parents. Many of us become people pleasers (doing our jobs), we can have a flat effect emotionally, and we may have trouble asking for help, or connecting with others. We know we are different in some ways and strive to fit in with others whom we view as better or luckier than us because of their loving family relationships.

And yet, many of us managed to bloom as adults, creating strong bonds within our own family and social structures. Sometimes we are so good at appearing human that people are shocked when they learn of our origins. Some of us don’t talk about our backgrounds, except for a few trusted confidants. Talking about our stories often feels dangerous, as if we are exposing ourselves, as “less than” people.

As the popcorn in my bag got lower and lower, I debated what qualities make us human and how much of my own life has been about choosing to live as fully as humanly possible. As the film concluded I was reminded that there are qualities that confirm our humanness, such as the ability to love and be loved, to consider the feelings of others, and to make sacrifices for a good cause. To be truly human is to assume that every living thing also possesses a soul, an inner life, and to treat others with kindness and respect regardless of origins.

Recently, a Friend of Ours wrote this about going No Contact with her toxic parents on a Toxic Mom Toolkit post on Facebook:

“I literally have no one. I wonder what will happen to me if I have a health emergency. Trust me, I was alone with both of them any way, they wouldn’t help if I was on fire but it’s so definite now.”

I think this is a thought that has crossed the mind of just about every adult child of a super toxic mom or toxic dad or toxic family. Yes, what if you suddenly have a gall bladder attack, or a heart attack or a very bad accident? Who will be there for you at the hospital? Who will come to you? Drive you? Sit with you? Comfort you?

For a lot of us at Toxic Mom Toolkit, we already know, it’s not going to be our awful mothers. Of course, if she can make your crisis about her – about how she dropped everything for you, causing scenes, fighting with other relatives and hospital staff – then it might be worth the trouble.

But think about the conditioning behind this “Who will come when I’m sick?” scenario. Who came when you were little? There was ONLY your mom, so her coming, staying, being there for you had a huge impact. It would be so sad without her, you think, or scary, or you’d be ashamed to cry or have mobility issues in front of strangers, you think.

But now that you are not a child, and maybe you are low contact or no contact with your mom, it might have occurred to you that you will probably survive anything the world can throw at you. Even without your mother.

As a former police chaplain, I’ve seen it in action. A call comes into 911 and the dispatcher sends cops and medical to a person in crisis; the EMT’s run towards you; an ambulance waits. None of the first responders ask about your mother. You get to the hospital and nurses and doctors and X-ray people assess your condition. They might ask about your insurance, but they don’t really care about whether or not your mom is coming.

While you are navigating the Emergency Room you may be able to place a call, or you may be unconscious or not thinking clearly. It is actually the stuff of movies and television that wonderful people come running while you are in the ER. It doesn’t really happen as often as you think it does – unless you’re a cop or firefighter. Then you’ve got a lobby full of people worrying for you.

After you’ve been treated, given pain meds, put in a bed with cool sheets, someone will ask if they can telephone someone for you. Of course, you’ll be tired and maybe a little drugged up, and, yes, it would be nice to have someone come and hold your hand, console you; someone to see what you need in the hours or days to come. And you know what? Anyone you call will probably come – if not that day, then in the morning. You don’t have to call your mother if you don’t want to.

There are Visiting Nurses who can help you get back home and supervise your care. Yes, it costs money, but no Visiting Nurse ever told a patient they had only themselves to blame for their situation or that they looked like hell without makeup.

You really could call a friend from work or church or the gym. They’ll come. And when they get there they will be kind.

Or you can call your overly dramatic mother.

Any time anyone has called me, I pack a little bag with sweats, cotton underwear, socks, hand cream, a toothbrush, bobby pins and a hair scrunchy. (My girlfriends know that The Wolfes ARE the folks you call on your worst day, even if it’s 3:30 a.m.) If I’m your friend and you call me when you are in trouble, I’ll come and I’ll drive you home and I’ll clean your kitchen and make sure you have some easy to prep soup and orange juice and I’ll put the phone by your bed and fluff your pillows and tell you, you’re going to be fine. Just rest, and let me take care of things for a day or two.

Or you can call your cold-hearted mother, so you can be hurt, drugged up and forced to listen to her go on an on about your lousy housekeeping.

You may feel ashamed that there is no one “close” to call. Like, the nurses will judge you if your mother doesn’t come. But you know what nurses know? They know that families come in many forms. They’ve witnessed toxic visitors making everything worse. They are happy to ban upsetting visitors for you, because it keeps your blood pressure down. They totally get it. So, if the only person you can think to call is that older lady from yoga class that you had coffee with a couple of times – CALL her and be humble in your human need for comfort from a kind person.

I once had a girlfriend call me out of the blue and beg me to drive her to Kaiser to get a shot in the butt for a migraine headache. She was in so much pain, she couldn’t drive herself and we had to stop twice for her to open the door and barf. We still laugh about it. Facing a crisis with a friend is how friendships go deeper.

I’m reading Dr. Bessel Van Der Kolks, The Body Keeps the Score, and wow, is it an eye opener! I’m having lightbulb moments in every chapter. It’s SO interesting to me that I’m furiously skipping whole big swaths of info on soldiers with PTSD (I can go back) and brain chemistry (I can go back) and just following his trail of crumbs on why I have so often felt lost and frozen.

It also got me thinking a lot about how we accept lies – really, really OLD lies about who we are and how we are. So I’m taking a rainy afternoon to create a little art journal to document the lies I’ve been carrying around. Lies like: I’m bad at math. I AM bad at arithmetic and I know why. My brain was too busy in third grade trying to survive my embattled home life that I had no room for memorizing my times tables. I have however, managed to make a good living (since I was 17) and save a decent amount and create financial security. (So, no, you’re wrong mother, I’m not bad at math.)

If you’ve read or are reading my book, Toxic Mom Toolkit, you know that you’re allowed to do creative things to process your feelings about growing up with a super toxic mom. I think combining scientific reading with art journaling will be transformative. And I wanted to mention it to you in case you have been looking for a creative way to process your feelings, too.

One of the very first things I did when I started writing Toxic Mom Toolkit was to design a brief questionnaire to help me collect real stories of growing up with a super toxic mother. Many of the mini-memoir chapters in my book started with an email from someone brave enough to take the survey and then send it back to me.

If you would like to fill one out, I would love to read it. They are for my eyes only and are confidential. If I decide I’d like to use yours to create a chapter for my new book for guys, I will ask your permission. As a writer, I need to know who you are really, but you can remain anonymous and we can change names, locations, etc. to protect the guilty parties.

So here is the 2016 edition of 20 Questions Every Adult Child of a Toxic Mom Should Ask Themselves:

20 Questions for Adult Children of Toxic Mothers

Your name:

Your age:

Contacts: Email & Phone:

Your location/Country & City:

Please email your completed survey to newsyrayne@gmail.com

Your Story Matters!

Tell us about you. What year where you born and where does your birth fit in among siblings? Please provide a basic description of your parents/family. Did your family grow through adoption or foster placement?

Tell me the story of how your parents met.

Tell me about each of your parent’s teen years and what their parents did for a living. Include any unusual relationships within the family that are pertinent to your family life today.

Describe the arc of your academic and professional life to present. What is your current occupation? If you volunteer in your community, how often? Doing what?

Describe the relationship with your mother in three segments: as a child, a teen and young adult.

How old were you when you first realized your mother was different than other mothers?

What is your biggest criticism of your mother?

What would she criticize about you?

Describe any significant periods of estrangement. How easy (or difficult) was it to limit (or cut off) contact?

How has your relationship with your mother affected your relationships with others?

How many friends can you really talk to about your mother?

Describe your current family status. Do you have children? If not, why not?